


Yield

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Canon Era, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-31
Updated: 2008-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was all about the give and take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yield

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, _Generation Kill_ , as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction ergo it never happened.
> 
> Set after Part 4, "Combat Jack." Originally posted [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/340469.html).

Nate cursed under his breath at the idiocy of his Company Commander. He was trying to unfuck one of Encino Man's more fucked reports, but he had to read under cover—red light and dust making things look off—he was tired, he was cold, he'd gotten reamed by Godfather that morning, and, quite frankly, he was in no kind of mood to make the Captain look mildly competent when all he got in return were accusations of insubordination.

The sound of boots stopping next to the door of his vehicle made Nate raise his head. Person stood there, hands hunched on his hips, looking...disgruntled.

And not talking.

This was unusual enough for Nate to lower the light.

"Everything okay?"

Ray waved an insistent hand. "No, no, it's not. Okay, look, I'm not good with the whole faggoty, let's-talk-about-our-feelings bullcrap, but what I know is this: you and Brad are the central nervous system of this ass-backward rabble we like to call Second Platoon. So can you just give each other make-up blowjobs or something? I mean, seriously, this is getting retarded. Drop to your knees and take one for the team. Um, sir," he tacked on.

Nate just stared for a moment. 

The moment stretched.

"You okay, sir?"

"Ray, I'd like you to think on something: there's speaking truth to power...and then there's you."

"I—don't even know what that means. Sir."

"Which is why you should think on it. It'll come to you." Nate clicked off the light and happily left the Captain's report to its own devices. He less happily left Ray to _his_ devices, but he didn't seem in danger of stroking out—at the moment—so Nate figured he could leave him unsupervised for at least as long as it took to find Brad.

Brad was certainly letting Ray run around and mouth off to officers, so that was something. Of course, that could be indicative of Brad's decision-making capacity, so maybe Nate shouldn't take that as a vote of confidence in Ray's self-control after all.

No use worrying about it. At least until he actually found Brad and judged for himself.

Plus, time away from the cluster-fuck of Command was just what he needed. And while ill-advised, Ray's assessment of the situation wasn't far off the mark. Not that he knew that, of course.

At least, Nate didn't think so. Oh, hell. Who even knew anymore? Regardless, Nate had been acting badly. Yes, it was one thing to shield the guys from the truly moronic machinations of Command, but it was another to be a ghost amongst them.

Brad especially hadn't deserved that.

Nate could _do_ something about it. For once, it seemed.

***

A couple quick questions and he ascertained that Brad was out alone on the other side of the berm, either engaging in a well-deserved combat jack or spilling a goat's entrails to the light of the full moon. Seeing as there was no full moon, Nate was less inclined to go with that option.

He could wait for Brad to get back. Or he could go out and find him. And watch from a discrete distance in case the guys were right about the combat jack.

He _could_ do those things, so when he spotted Brad—arm moving in a rhythm any man would recognize—he spared a brief thought for that plan. And then resolutely ignored it.

"Need a hand with that?" Nate asked, close behind him.

Brad groaned, long and low. "Jesus Christ, I can't even get off in peace." His head dropped and his arm stopped moving. Nate could hear him take a measured breath. 

Brad bitched by rote, but Nate would be able to tell if he really wanted to be alone. His tone spoke more of sulky sexual frustration than 'back the fuck off,' so Nate felt perfectly justified to step in the last foot or so and press himself all along Brad's back. The berm angled up just behind them, so Nate ended up standing on a bit of an incline. He could rest his chin on Brad's shoulder.

True to form, Brad didn't object. And if his silent stillness wasn't exactly encouraging...well, Brad certainly knew how to tell him to fuck off. In point of fact, Brad had gotten very good at doing just that.

Practice made perfect and all.

"I'm choosing to take that as a 'yes,'" Nate muttered. His hand closed around Brad's neglected cock, tight. Brad let out a soft grunt. But he didn't make any noises about stopping.

"As you like. Sir." The sulky 'sir' might have had a bit more impact if Nate didn't have Brad's dick in hand.

So Nate just snorted, nipped at Brad's ear, and picked his rhythm right up, jerking him off hard and fast. Brad relaxed back, just slight, and Nate braced himself to take some of his weight. He could feel Brad breathing, his back moving against Nate's chest—had they ever been this close?—and the little shifts of Brad's hips created their own kind of delicious friction. His position put him such that he could murmur right into Brad's ear.

"I missed this," Nate said, low. He felt Brad's breathing stutter.

"You missed giving me handjobs? Going gay, sir?" But Brad's voice was fucked, all hitching and panting. Hard to deliver a zinger when you're a breath away from coming. Or hyperventilating. Whichever. 

Nate bit at Brad's ear again, this time hard enough to really feel. "No, getting back to _normal_ ," he said, uncompromising. "And that's been in pretty short supply lately."

Brad took a breath like he had something to say, but Nate firmed his hand and the breath got caught somewhere, choked down. A few more rough, tight strokes and Brad's hips wouldn't stay still, even with Nate holding him tight. So he stopped trying, let Brad fuck into his fist, and held on as Brad's hips shook, stilled, and his cock pulsed wildly in Nate's hand. Nate resumed stroking and Brad half-whined, high in his throat. 

_Fuck_ , that was hot. Nate groaned, directly in his ear, and ground himself against Brad, shameless. 

Coming down had Brad sucking in harsh gasps of air, back heaving against Nate. The man could hold his breath for well over four minutes and here he was, out of breath over a half-assed handjob in the middle of bumfuck, Iraq.

Nate closed his eyes and willed his body under control. Because _damn_. That was hot, too.

Brad's voice rumbled into the night. "Gonna let me go anytime soon?"

"Sorry. Couldn't believe it was over," Nate said.

"Fuck you."

"Mmm, maybe later." 

Brad stopped moving. His quick breath in held a kind of anticipatory note to it that Nate had no idea what to do with. 

"Promise?" Brad asked, his voice full of _something._

Nate laughed it off, something to think on later. He stood there, wrapped around Brad, hard but not trying to do anything about it. He rested his chin on Brad's shoulder, cleaned them up with the baby wipe Brad offered, and carefully tucked Brad back into his pants. He didn't pull away, even after that was done. 

Despite his words, Brad stayed right where he was.

And then he moved: sinking to his knees, suddenly exhausted. Nate breathed out a laugh and followed him down into the dirt. What was a little more, anyway?

"You're in a good mood," Brad said, way too careful and controlled given he just shot all over Nate's fist. No one should be that composed after an orgasm.

Except the Iceman, naturally.

"Nah, I'm just reveling in the absurd."

Brad snorted. "You should be used to that by now." 

"One would think." And yet...

Brad turned and pushed Nate back onto the berm, then languidly curled over him and dug underneath his clothes until he could palm Nate's cock. He took his sweet time getting hands on Nate's skin. 

Nate let him. He sucked in a breath when Brad started to jerk him off, dirty and slow. It was nothing like the handjob Nate had given Brad. This Nate was meant to _feel_.

And _Christ_ , did he ever. Heavy, drudging heat spread through every limb, an inexorable pleasure that left him powerless. Nate was pretty sure his toes curled in his boots, it was so good. Through it all he could see Brad watching him, that little look of concentration he got when spreading peanut butter on crackers or scoping an enemy target.

Had to be _just so_.

He'd never be able to see that look again and not think of this. All that focus and control, brought to bear on getting him off. The thought alone—

Yet another way he was in so much fucking trouble.

"See something interesting, Brad?" Nate hissed out. He grunted when Brad's hand tightened. Nate's fingers gripped at the dirt of the berm. Because if not that, they'd stray in other, far more dangerous directions.

"Just keeping watch, sir."

"Fuck," Nate muttered when Brad twisted his hand just right. He sucked in a breath—

Or tried to, only to find Brad's mouth on him, lips opening. Another twist of his hand set off a moan that tangled their mouths even further. And then they were kissing, for real, Nate humping into Brad's hand and sucking on Brad's tongue and he couldn't—he didn't—

Nate came spectacularly—all fiery starbursts behind closed eyes and trying to meld into Brad's body above him. Not expecting it, even with the slow, steady burn. Somehow it always seemed like a goal he'd never actually reach. 

Which was always proven brilliantly wrong by Brad's ever-talented hand. And mouth, it seemed. Brad kindly swallowed his whimper. Nate would be embarrassed by that...but _damn_.

His entire body relaxed at once, spread out boneless underneath Brad. Now he did a fair amount of panting himself, though there had been the kissing.

Right. Like that was some kind of excuse. Jesus fuck, since when did they do _that_?

Brad chuckled into his mouth, gentling his hand, still so close. He peppered Nate's mouth with little kisses. Now that he'd started, he couldn't seem to stop.

Nate made his hand function and grabbed the back of Brad's neck. He held him in place and fused their mouths together, hot like they both hadn't come moments before. Like they had all the time in the world to do this.

After, Brad breathed, brought shaky fingers to Nate's chin. 

Fuck. Nate knew that look. Nate had worn that look himself.

He gathered the energy to roll them both, then pinned Brad back against the berm. Brad grunted and shifted, tried to move, only to find he couldn't. Nate had him held fast. Which was exactly his plan. 

"I am not a fucking _girl_ ," Nate growled into Brad's mouth. Then he latched on, more teeth than tongue this time, and it wasn't a battle that Brad ever had a chance of winning.

He gave it a good try, though.

After they reached some kind of détente—couldn't back down, of course—Nate pulled his mouth away. He saw Brad lick his lips, an exploratory swipe, like he was testing a new feeling there. Then he met Nate's eyes.

"Solid copy. Sir."

Nate sighed and planted his knees so his weight wouldn't be crushing. He might as well say what he'd come to say, give Brad a chance to think on it. 

"I shouldn't have ignored you when you wanted to talk earlier; I could have handled that better."

Brad frowned and tried to shrug, kind of difficult when he was on a berm and had Nate on top of him, but he managed. "S'okay, LT. Just consider me your own personal whipping boy." If Ray were here that would provoke the whipped hand motion and obscene eyebrow waggle.

Ray really wasn't here. And thank God for that 'cause that was just what they needed: the peanut gallery.

Nate shook his head. "It's not like that. You know why."

Brad eyed him steadily.

Nate sat up a little, wanted Brad to _get_ it. "It's one thing if it's just you and me, Brad. But the guys could _hear_. Godfather just ripped me a new one for causing dissension in the ranks. Yeah, Encino Man's speech was beyond ludicrous and I'd have loved nothing more than to bullshit with you about it, but Godfather has a point. Questioning orders can get good people killed."

"Fucktard Captains get good people killed. Maybe if it were just mindless bitching, he'd have a point. But it's not mindless. You know that."

Nate levered himself up and kind of half-slid sideways onto the ground. "Dammit, Brad."

Brad turned to watch him, resolute as he always was. Unyielding. In this, at least. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He wasn't wrong. Dammit. But Nate couldn't—he didn't have the luxury of letting his doubts about himself out there. Even if it was Brad.

"I honestly don't think I've dealt with this much incompetence since the tenth-grade Gilbert and Sullivan Society," he muttered instead. 

Brad snorted after a careful moment. "You are such a fuckin' fairy princess. Why didn't you just join the Peace Corps and commit to the goddamn cliché you know you are?" Nate closed his eyes. Brad had accepted the change of subject, wasn't gonna _push_ , and for that Nate couldn't be more grateful.

In too deep, he knew. Not that he could seem to do anything about it.

He chuckled at Brad's dig, belated but Brad probably wouldn't call him on it. He could always count on Brad. "So, we okay?" he asked eventually.

"Oh, what the fuck are you on about? We're not _dating_. Unless you forgot to tell me something. Should we be holding hands in the lunch line? Sneaking off to trade blowjobs in the band practice rooms?"

"Where did _you_ go to high school? I'll have you know I was deconstructing 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' and coming up with non-metaphorical ways to describe time."

"And sucking off your fellow Gilbert and Sullivan Society members," Brad said, pointed.

"Brad, is there something _you_ need to tell _me_? You're awfully concerned with my mouth."

Brad rolled over, lips close to Nate's ear. Hot breath there made Nate shiver. He could get hard again, from this, Brad whispering in his ear. He knew he could. "It's so pretty, it's distracting. Fuck Encino Man and the Iraqis. Your _mouth_ is gonna get me killed."

Nate knew he was joking, but he couldn't help the little frisson of dread that settled in his stomach. He nudged away slightly. "That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered.

Brad watched him for a moment, something working through his brain. 

Nate let him; his ideas tended to save their asses, more often than not. 

"Godfather will never let Encino Man get rid of you. He may be acting like a crazy motherfucker, but he knows a good officer when he sees one," Brad pronounced, like it was law and would be done.

Right.

"He may not have a choice," Nate said, stubborn to the last.

Brad's hands tightened on him and he moved in closer again. "Not gonna happen. Fuck if I'm gonna let Encino Man and Casey Kasem take away the best LT we've got. I'll frag 'em myself first," Brad practically growled.

Nate stayed silent for a stunned beat. "Never let anyone else hear you say that," he said, grim.

"I won't let them _hear_ it." With that dangerous glint in his eyes, fuck if Nate didn't believe him.

***

Operation Iraqi Freedom had been a fucking waste of his skills and training, no matter what fucktard praise Godfather or Chaos tried to bribe them with. The only good thing about the whole ass-backwards invasion was being able to pull the LT aside and rub up against him. When Nate wasn't drowning in a guilt-induced sulk, that was. 

Brad wouldn't be putting _that_ in any After-Action Report, though.

Now that they were done, well. Possibilities emerged. Things like privacy and showers once again became feasible. And time limits and the threat of discovery evaporated.

The desire to rub up against his LT? Didn't evaporate. Not at all. In fact, Brad was more intrigued than ever by all Nate's little offhand comments and reactions that had caught his attention back when they were in the shit.

Granted, Brad couldn't exactly approach Nate given they were on a boat of wall-to-wall guys...but he could watch. Or stare at Nate's ass whenever he got the chance. Which Nate noticed. And Brad noticed he noticed, but it wasn't like he could actually follow up on anything. 

Libo in Australia, however, that presented interesting prospects. Prospects like grabbing a beer with the guys, only to have Nate lean in and whisper, "Want to find a hotel room and fuck my brains out?"

Brad finished that beer in record time, even for him. Just in case anyone needed proof that he could hold his breath for a longer than Ray could ramble about NAMBLA, thanks very much.

Which was how he found himself in some cheap hotel room, sticky with sweat and heat and fucking into Nate Fick's pale, Ivy League ass.

Nate braced his arms above him and shoved himself back onto Brad's cock over and over again. He made noise—all of it filthy and hot and so unexpected, dropping breathily from those angelic fucking lips of his. It seemed overly loud to Brad, after all those nights having to be so very quiet, and fuck if that didn't make it hotter.

And Nate cursing up a storm was something else, too.

"Brad, holy—you feel fucking huge inside me—splitting me open—" Nate shoved himself back even harder and just took what he wanted. "God, right fucking there, _yes_!" Nate called. The muscles in his back stretched and flexed with the movement. Brad followed sweat droplets as they trailed down his skin, tried to keep his brain from imploding at the sight and scent and _sound_ of Nate underneath him.

"I wanted—just like this. Fuck. Harder. _Fuck_!"

Fucking hell. Brad might as well be a prop for all the involvement he had in Nate's impending orgasm and it was the hottest fucking thing he'd ever seen in his life.

Despite that, or because of it, Brad fumbled a hand around Nate's hip and found his cock, heavy and hard and so very hot. As soon as Brad touched him Nate shuddered all over. One last "Brad," rang out on a gasp, and then he was coming in Brad's hand, body squeezing too tight, just perfect, setting off Brad's own orgasm.

Brad bit the back of Nate's neck and did not ecstatically call out any names. 

He thought about it, though.

***

After the requisite post-orgasm catnap, Brad couldn't drop off into anything deeper. Instead of sleeping, he watched Nate. 

Nate, who sprawled blissfully relaxed, loose-limbed, mouth lax, eyelids fluttering. He was turned toward Brad, a leg and a hand out, but wasn't crowding or clinging by any means. He wasn't snoring, just breathing deep, even breaths. 

In waking Nate was never ordinary; in sleeping he was exactly that. He was just...unconscious.

Like Brad should be. 

"I can hear you thinking," Nate said, perfectly still, eyes closed. Brad started at the sound of his voice, so uncharacteristic for him. He hadn't noticed when Nate's breathing had changed, when he'd moved from dreaming to not. He'd been that far inside his own head.

Brad got to watch as Nate breathed in deep, opened his eyes, blinked at him. Green eyes were amused.

"I sincerely doubt that, sir," Brad responded.

Nate arched an inquiring eyebrow, so Brad went on: "Hearing my thoughts would require me to have thoughts...and I was just too stunned by your Sleeping Beauty impression for those."

A hand was suddenly around his half-hard cock and Brad started again. Fuck, he was _off_. But Nate was smiling wickedly so he hadn't seemed to notice. "Gee, Brad, I had no idea about your Disney fetish."

"Of course you sick fuck Ivy boys would go there. Just don't mention _Pocahontas_ in front of Poke. He gets really pissy."

Nate grinned, hand stroking with intent. Apparently Brad's dick was just fine even if his brain wasn't. Both liked Nate more than a little because it didn't take much before he was fully hard. Nate flung the sheets off and rolled between Brad's legs.

Brad raised himself onto his elbows; he had Nate Fick between his legs and he was damn well gonna watch. Nate lapped once at the head of Brad's cock, then looked up at him slyly. 

That image...was gonna stick with him a while.

Nate ground into the mattress, a rapturous expression flickering over his face. "I can still feel you inside me," he said, soft. Then he parted those perfect lips and sucked Brad into that hot, slick, filthy little mouth of his.

Things kind of blurred after that.

***

They went out with the guys during the day. Brad simply watched. Nate broke up fights, picked their destinations when everyone else dithered like a bunch of tween schoolgirls, reluctantly got into a drinking contest with Person—who was kind of a fucking lightweight, by the way—and didn't even rub it in Ray's face when he won. Hell, wasn't even trying to win, if Brad was any judge, and Brad really had to talk to Ray about that. Sometime.

When he wasn't busy contemplating how _nothing at all had changed_.

Someone nudged his shoulder. "What's got your panties in a twist today, dog?" Espera watched him like he was fucking Abraham Lincoln considering the state of the union. Brad needed to put a stop to that. Now.

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"You haven't delivered a verbal smackdown all day, not even when Manimal called the LT a cocksucker." Well, more like Manimal said Nate had a mouth like one, so Brad supposed this was Poke trying to get a rise out of him.

It had been one of Brad's first rules upon meeting their new LT back at Pendleton: no talking dirty about the boss...mostly because Brad really didn't need any more reminders that the man had a pretty, pretty mouth. He could see it for himself, dammit. 

Brad instituted the rule the very first time Manimal said it was too bad the LT wasn't a girl 'cause that was a mouth meant to suck cock. And Brad enforced said rule within Bravo Company, ruthlessly and without tire. Hell, even Alpha and Charlie never went there...or at least they made sure Brad never, ever heard about it. 

It helped that Nate was a solid officer, too.

Manimal just couldn't help himself, though. Ray had stepped in today, diverting everyone's attention with commentary on the shameful decline of Sydney's red light district. And when Ray was being the voice of reason...

Possibly Ray also caught on that Brad wasn't in the mood, as Poke seemed to.

That wasn't good either. When Ray Person started noticing shit outside himself, well, that meant shit was getting obvious.

"I have minions to deliver verbal smackdowns for me," Brad dismissed. Then he turned to the bartender to forestall any further comments, especially as it regarded their LT.

There was a reason he kept to himself. Hanging with the boys was just downright tedious some days.

He wondered what punishment Ray would exact for being called a minion. Then he wondered where Nate had run off to. 

He didn't wonder when this thing with them had gotten out of control; that assumed it was once under control. And Brad tried not to delude himself like that.

***

Brad sat twirling an empty, lost in thought. He knew he was being unsociable, but since when had he given a flying fuck?

Brad's world revolved around never backing down. What was a more crystal-clear case of backing down than letting some guy shove his cock up your ass? 

Brad didn't have to be in control—he wouldn't have lasted ten minutes in the military had that been the case—but he wasn't about to put himself at someone else's mercy. Willingly. _Personally_.

But Nate—fuck, Nate had done exactly that and it wasn't anything like Brad had imagined it would be. It was _good_ and hot as fuck and made him feel raw inside.

Brad might have been the one with the cock up Nate's ass, but Nate was by no means submitting to him. He'd fucking told Brad what he wanted with those sinful lips of his, hell, he'd just _taken_ what he wanted, fuck Brad, anyway. And he'd gotten it if his satisfaction was any way to judge.

Something in Brad felt...challenged. Challenged in a dimension he didn't expect and it made Brad itchy inside, but in a way he couldn't get a handle on.

Amazing how _Nate_ taking it up the ass had turned into Brad's masculinity issue.

***

"You okay?" Nate asked, quiet, just for him.

"Yes," Brad said shortly.

The look in Nate's eyes said he clearly didn't believe him.

"I'm fine," Brad said and damn, that came out pissier than he'd wanted. But what the fuck was up with everyone asking what was wrong with him?

He was _just fine_ , dammit.

"Is this about last night?" Nate asked out of nowhere.

Brad blinked. "What about last night?"

"I dunno; that's why I'm asking." Devastating simplicity, Nate facing challenges head-on, barreling straight through them.

Brad simply shrugged. "Since nothing's wrong, I can't really say it's about last night, can I?" he pointed out. Then he had a thought. His eyes flicked up and down Nate's frame. "Unless...you squared away, sir?" Concern crawled into his stomach and settled in like an old friend.

Nate's rueful smile didn't loosen its hold at all. "I'm just fine. You, on the other hand, never let me out of your sight today, you got pissed at Jacks when he made that joke, hell, you tried to hold a door for me. And you've been touching me all day long." Brad snatched his hand back from where it'd been resting on the bar, a hairsbreadth from touching him. Nate's eyes flicked to the movement, then back to Brad. "I'm not complaining about the touching. But last night does not make me a fucking girl," he said, intent. Brad had heard that before, they'd covered that before. He got it, dammit.

A short nod told Nate as much. But, since they were on the subject of Nate...

"You feel any different?" Brad asked.

Nate's look turned speculative. His eyes gleamed and he leaned in, lowering his voice further. "What, after having a cock up my ass? Well, my ass is a little sore, but other than that..."

"Fuck it; forget I asked."

Nate's hand on his arm didn't stop him, but the serious look in his eyes sure did. "No, I don't feel any different," he answered honestly. "But then I don't think I did anything....unmanly."

Brad took a pull from his refreshed beer. Nate dropped his hand away. Brad missed the touch.

"Is that why you've been so distracted today?" Nate asked, mild.

"I haven't been—"

Nate leveled a look at him. Brad stopped talking and took another drink instead. Nate waited patiently.

"I fucking hate it when you make me...reevaluate. Things." Which made no fucking sense and he was only on his third beer and maybe Poke was right and there was something misfiring in his brain today. Not that he'd ever admit it to that smirking, self-satisfied motherfucker. Brad would never hear the end of it.

Nate kind of grinned, small, then angled himself away and gave Brad a look as he passed by. They were good with the silent communication, the two of them. Always had been. And that look said, 'let's finish this somewhere more private.'

Brad drained the bottle in his hand.

***

"Reevaluating, are you?" Nate asked, baiting, hands already on Brad and they'd just gotten in the door.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't be so fucking pleased with yourself." He backed them to the bed and sat. They had privacy, a shower, no real time limit, and little chance of discovery. As good as it was gonna get...before they got home, anyway.

Nate didn't follow him down, instead stood in front of him. His satisfaction slipped into something graver as his fingers traced Brad's temple. "Tell me what's going on up here." It was an order but it was soft. 

Brad responded to the order part.

"I try to imagine some guy shoving up inside me and—" Brad shook his head and couldn't even finish the thought. It just wouldn't connect.

"Maybe you should try someone specific, rather than just some guy," Nate said, low and close.

Brad looked up to find Nate _right there_. He opened his mouth to retort—but never got the chance, since Nate took that as his cue to move in, cover Brad's lips with his own, tongue pushing into his mouth.

Nate kind of slid on top of him, all easy grace, and Brad let himself sink back onto the bed. The man had a brilliant mouth and damn, but he knew how to use it. He was just being a dumbfuck with all the obsessing today. This, now, _this_ was what mattered. He wouldn't get it for much longer.

Or at least, couldn't imagine it back at Pendleton. Nate already had that wistful look about him. Brad had seen it before, on other officers before they left—either the platoon or the Marines, it didn't matter. Nate wasn't long for his world.

Brad needed to focus. So that he'd remember.

Clothes evaporated in a desperate scramble for skin on skin and Brad had no clear plan for the night beyond rubbing up against Nate's naked skin as much as possible. Nate seemed good with that, so it was all kinds of fine. They could be girly and talk about shit later. Or they could spend the next thirty-six hours fucking each other's brains out and forget they'd ever had a conversation at all.

That worked, too.

When Nate released his mouth and moved down, Brad happily shoved his head onto the pillows to watch. He still tingled from this morning's blowjob and really, he'd gotten nowhere near his fill of watching Nate's lips wrap around his cock.

Which Nate so obligingly did.

Brad groaned and rolled his hips, tantalized by the heat and the wet and the fucking Nathaniel Fick it all came with.

Nate pulled off, laughed a little, and batted at Brad's thighs until he spread them more, gave Nate more room. Then he sucked him down again and the room got a little fuzzy, everything but Nate's cherry lips wrapped around his cock. 

Nate licked and sucked and made an admirable attempt at going all the way down, but none of it was with intent or seeming goal. He wasn't trying to get Brad off, but he wasn't just teasing, either.

It was just at the point where Brad started wondering about that—such as he could when his dick was hard and aching and there was a naked Nate nearby—that Brad felt a finger trail behind his balls. And then further back.

A wet finger.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Nate's finger pressed at his opening, Nate's mouth sealed around the head of Brad's cock, and he _sucked_. Brad lost whatever he'd been thinking.

The world kind of flickered and dimmed for a lot longer than Brad thought very respectable. Not that he could do anything about it.

When he came back to himself Nate was still latched onto his cock, smoothly sliding his mouth down and then up again, and his finger was deep inside Brad's ass. Every time he would come back up again and lick just under the head of his cock that finger would move, press just so, and Brad would be sent careening off into ecstasy again.

He kept this up for a while.

Brad resurfaced sometime later to find two fingers inside him. Two slick fingers. And Nate lapping at his cock like a kitten.

"Nate," he grunted, hoarse.

"Shhh," Nate reassured. He watched Brad as he quirked his two fingers and fire swept through him—from deep in his ass to his cock to everywhere else that could feel.

"Christ," Brad hissed. Those fingers didn't just press into him, they also scissored, loosened him up, and Brad knew what that was for, he was just choosing not to think about it.

...which didn't really help when he felt that third finger being pushed inside him. It didn't hurt, for long, but it ached and he knew he'd be sore and it was just fucking _weird_.

But again, he didn't exactly stop Nate from pushing them in, out, then in again and crooking to hit that perfect spot, just perfectly.

Brad spread his legs a little more and moaned.

He could hear the sounds they were making—Nate's breathing had sped up, the rustles against the sheets, Brad's own thready groans. Brad's cock was heavy and protesting its abandonment and when Brad raised his head to voice this concern, he caught sight of Nate's eyes.

They'd gone dark and there was a flush high in his cheeks. As he watched, Nate ground down into the mattress while he moved his fingers inside Brad, opened him up even more.

Jesus, that was hot.

" _Nate_ ," Brad said, desperate. He hauled Nate up into a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Nate's cock ended up pushing into Brad's hip and he reflexively thrust into Brad's skin, almost as gone as Brad.

"I want to be inside you," Nate whispered when he broke away. This close Brad could see his eyes were dilated and a fine tremor shivered all through him. His fingers still moved inside Brad.

A fresh wave of sheer want crested and broke inside him.

"Oh, fuck it," he grunted. He seized Nate's wrist and pulled those fingers out of him, but before Nate could get any ideas he rolled over onto his hands and knees and spread himself out. Brad hoped that was enough because he didn't know if he could verbalize it.

Hell, he didn't know if verbalizing anything wouldn't just break the tenuous mood they'd slipped into.

Nate's breath hitched, but smart boy he was, he had his fingers back inside Brad before Brad even finished settling himself. Nate sidled up behind him, fingers still working, even as his other hand searched for a condom. The lube was already nearby, the fuckin' Boy Scout.

Sounds of plastic ripping made reality intrude in unpleasant ways. So much for not deluding himself.

"Can we fucking get to it already?" Brad asked. The fingers in him kind of shivered and spasmed, sending Brad's mind right into blankness.

"You have no idea how hot you look right now," Nate murmured, pulling him back to the here and now.

Then something bigger pressed at his entrance, Nate's fingers curled against his hips.

"Breathe," Nate said lowly, so Brad did.

It felt huge, like an invasion, not as painful as he'd imagined but nothing even close to comfortable, much less good. Brad hissed when a particularly sharp twinge hit; Nate stopped immediately.

Nate's hand kneaded his lower back and he made shushing noises. "Just relax. You're perfect. God, I so wanted this," Nate said, like it was wrenched out of him, nothing he could control, thoughts skipping around haphazardly. He mouthed Brad's shoulder. "Gorgeous."

Brad felt his muscles relax and soon Nate started his steady push in, this time accompanied by a litany of praise and swearing and incoherent noises that made Brad's cock twitch to hear.

"So fucking tight, Jesus," Nate said, ragged. Brad could feel him trembling where they touched and knew what an effort it was to stay still, to keep slow when every instinct was screaming at you to move already.

When he was fully in Brad—Christ, there was a thought—Nate paused. They both sucked in air, trying to maintain control. Both in it together.

A stray thought floated through his brain...and then impacted. This was no kind of submission. Nate was, if anything, just as gone as Brad. His hands were gripping Brad's hips hard enough to leave ridge detail.

And with that, Brad relaxed fully, pressed back against Nate.

Nate's breathing hitched. "Brad—"

"Move," Brad growled, leading by example.

Nate didn't need to be told twice. He retreated, just barely, then flexed back in. It didn't blow his mind, but neither did it make him cringe. 

From Nate's soft sounds, sounds that hit Brad low, mind-blowing was a pretty good adjective from his perspective. Still, he experimented with his strokes, angles, and quickly hit on the one that made Brad's hands clench and vision go out.

"Fucking—hell, do that again," Brad ordered.

He did.

Over and over again until they were both halfway to gone, heat bleeding between them. Somewhere in his mind Brad was surprised at the give and take, easy as any of their interactions had ever been. But mostly he focused on grunting and pushing back as Nate swore and pleaded and gasped. It was fucking _insane_ and Nate was goddamn _shaking_ and all of it combined to make Brad feel like some kind of god—the god that ruled Nate Fick's cock.

Brad started to lose it as soon as Nate draped himself along Brad's back. Nate's fingers curled around his cock, his teeth nipped at Brad's skin, breath hot there, and it was too much stimulation, too many things coming at him at once, especially with Nate's cock steadily plowing into him. They were moving the bed; they could be moving the fucking building and Brad wouldn't give a damn. All he could focus on was Nate inside him and on top of him, fingers moving around him—

"Fuck," Brad breathed, pleasure starting to build everywhere that was still getting oxygen.

"Come for me," Nate groaned out, the order skating across his skin to reach Brad's ears.

Amazingly, Brad did. His body tensed and jerked and he was coming before he was conscious of it, heat stealing through him, gathering force as it traveled. Nate jerked him through it, kept on thrusting into him, even as Brad shut his eyes and his whole body squeezed tight in utter abandon. 

Damn if it didn't feel higher and longer than normal.

When it was over and he was panting into the mattress, that was when Nate finally let go. He came with a few short, hard thrusts, fingers gripping Brad's hips painfully. His orgasm, unlike the rest of it, was totally silent.

Afterwards they both collapsed, equally worn out. Nate pulled out of him, got rid of the condom, wished a cloth into existence and cleaned them up. Brad laid there like a lump and just focused on breathing.

Well. He certainly got his cherry popped.

Brad snorted at the thought.

"What's funny?" Nate asked as he flopped down beside him.

Brad turned his head and opened one eye so he could look at Nate. "You popped my cherry," he accused. 

Nate grinned. He looked younger out of the uniform. If that was even possible. Or maybe it was just that he looked younger out of Iraq.

He shrugged and tried for nonchalant. "Just returning the favor."

Brad blinked. But that would mean—

Huh. Well, that answered that question. The one he'd been wanting to ask since Nate idly said he could fuck him later. It seemed like a long time ago.

Nate relaxed beside him, touching only at a couple points. Brad turned his face into the pillow and when Nate didn't move to get any closer he braced tired arms on the mattress and shoved himself back, toward Nate, so that they were touching.

He didn't say anything.

Nate slung an arm over his hip and rested his forehead against the top of Brad's spine. His breath puffed against Brad's neck in an even rhythm.

Brad catalogued the sensations and made sure not to think about why. He contented himself with here, now, the both of them drugged with sleepy satisfaction. Reality awaited, but for now they could rest. 

***

Fin. Comments are adored.


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